


And He Finds the Babe Wrapped in Swaddling Scarf

by IllyanaA



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllyanaA/pseuds/IllyanaA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not nervous. He's not. He's simply tired of waiting. He's impatient, and he wants to see the little girl they've all been preparing for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And He Finds the Babe Wrapped in Swaddling Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes mine, after I wrote "The Tin Man", Baby Watson kept calling my name.

He has most certainly _not_ been pacing. Pacing would imply that he was nervous, and he’s not nervous. Why would he be nervous? People have children all the time. Perfectly standard procedure, and the infant mortality rates _and_ the death in childbirth rates were extremely low in England.

He notices his hands are shaking. He’s lost track of how much coffee he’s had.  

There are others in the waiting area along with him, none of them seem at all uneasy, except for ones in the corner who—judging by their conversations—have already watched the young mother they’re waiting on go through some complications.

It’s been _hours_. Is it supposed to take this long? He thinks he read that in one of the books he’s picked up, but he can’t remember. So much new information has piled into his mind that he’s not sure what he’s kept and what he’s deleted.

He’s so busy trying to filter through his newly acquired baby facts to notice his name being called. It takes a hand on his shoulder to startle him out of his thoughts.

“Sherlock?” John’s face comes into view. “She’s here.”

He follows his best friend back into the room where Mary and Baby Watson await. Mary is tired, judging by the sweat on her brow and the way she’s slumping into the bed for support, but she has a happy energy bubbling around her. In fact, they both do. The baby is wrapped up in her mother’s arms and the blanket that Sherlock bought a few days ago. It’s got the same pattern as his scarf, and blue is believed to be a peaceful colour. She is wide awake, he little eyes darting around as if trying to make sense of it all.

Which is a stupid notion. Newborns don’t have the metal capacity to process that kind of information.

“Sherlock,” Mary’s voice calls out to him this time. “You don’t have to stand over there, you know.”

Slowly, he walks over to the side of bed near where John is standing, looking every inch the proud father. He looks down at the infant, and the infant looks at him. He feels as if he’s being scrutinized buy this tiny, wrinkly thing, so he takes this moment to examine back. She’s got blue eyes—as all infants do—and tiny wisps of blonde hair on her head. She looks to be about three and a half kilograms, which is just about the weight she should be.

“John, tell him to quit deducing and make him hold her.”

“I—er—what?”

“You, Sherlock. Hold her. She won’t break.”

“Newborns are very fragile and should be handled with care. I don’t think it’s best that I—”

Before he can finish John is handing him his child and helping him to maneuver his arms into a cradle like position. The little one stretches a hand up toward him, her face wrinkling in frustration when she can’t quite reach him.

“Give her a hand, Sherlock.”

He complies. Extending a hand toward her up reaching arm, he’s a bit surprised when the child grasps his finger. She seems content now that she’s achieved her goal.

“Sherlock,” John says, stepping forward to place his hand on her head. “I am pleased to introduce you to Elizabeth Locke Watson.”

It takes him a moment to realise what John has said. Elizabeth he understands immediately and…Oh.  
He’s not sure why that makes him so happy, but it _does_. Now he thinks he understands John and Mary’s bubble of radiant energy. He holds the child closer to him and looks between her and her parents, but he can’t find words to say. So he just holds her, eventually adding a gentle rock to his movements, and walks over to the window.

John moves behind him. “I’m gonna go grab us something to eat. I’ll be back.”

“I think she likes you.” Mary smiles.

“She’s far too young to have formed any opinions. You can’t possibly—”

“I do, Sherlock. I'm a mother. I know these things.” She pulls the blankets up over her. “I’m going to rest a bit. Can I trust you two to keep each other company? Good.”

He looks back down at Elizabeth and says, “Your mother is attempting to make us have a conversation, although I am sure she is perfectly aware it will be very one-sided.”

The girl makes a sound, something he wonders could be considered a “coo”, and she seems to smile at him.

“Mary, what is she—?”

“You have a deep voice. Meaning she feels it where she’s resting on your chest.”

Ah. Maybe he needs to read through those books again. But she seems to like it so much, that he continues, telling her about her parents, and all the preparations they’ve made. He tells her about the way he met her father, and he tells her how lucky she is to have him. He tells her about her mother, about the amazing woman that she is. He talks to her for a while, and he doesn’t notice when she falls asleep in his arms.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

John walks in with food for him and Sherlock. Mary’s not been cleared for anything but hospital food yet. The sight that greets him warms his heart.

Sherlock is standing by the window, talking to his daughter, grinning as he speaks. Elizabeth still has her hand around his finger, but she’s asleep now. Sherlock doesn’t seem to have noticed.

He sets the food down as quietly as possible on the table, but Sherlock notices him anyway—Of course he does, he’s Sherlock.

“You’ve got her asleep. Good to know. We’ll need you when we get into our tantrum days.” John motions to her crib. “Go ahead and set her down.”

He puts her down so meticulously and with such care. John knows he’s afraid he’ll do something wrong. So, the first few things he says as they sit down to eat are his feeble attempts to reassure him. Because as much as he wants everyone to believe he doesn’t, he does care, so much. And he wants to take care of all three of them. And John wants to return the favour.

**Author's Note:**

> Some kind soul has taken to calling Baby Watson "Elizabeth Locke", and I think that is the best thing since sliced bread. I've seen some in the fandom adopt this name, so if anyone knows where I might find the person who started this, please tell me. I would like to shower them in praise.


End file.
